


Higher Revelations (A Sonata in Words)

by mcgooglykins



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, music is magic, sonata form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgooglykins/pseuds/mcgooglykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he got going, really got lost in the music he was bringing to life, Merlin became somehow altered, somehow a little bit not of this world, a little bit magical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction: opens the movement or piece; contains material preceding the primary theme, and establishes melodic, harmonic, or rhythmic material related to the main body.

Merlin always loved the piano. His fondest and earliest memories were of happily bashing away at the yellowing ivory, uncoordinated and uncaring, enjoying the strange sounds and revelling in the tactile element of just thumping something. He'd 'write' songs for his mother, and Hunith would laugh, a joyful tinkling sound that was every bit as infectious as Merlin's own childish giggle, and hug him and tell him it was 'wonderful, darling', and he'd play it again, and even though it would be a completely different series of notes, a completely different sound, every time, every rendition, she'd dance and clap along and his little heart would be near to bursting with something akin to sunshine.

It didn't change as he grew. He'd come home from school happy, knees and elbows and face all smudged from grubbing about in the dirt with Will all lunchtime, sling his bag haphazard along the side of the stool and just _play_ , nothing in particular; or race himself to see how fast he could play that scale his mother had shown him the week before, and he'd be so lost in the world of sounds and the movement of his fingers that he wouldn't notice that it was getting dark, and that he was hungry, _starving_ even, until Hunith would come up behind him and gently card her fingers through his hair (always dishevelled), and tell him it was dinner time, homework time, chore time, or _talk_ time if he'd been particularly fidgety and misbehaved at school.

When Merlin was feeling down, or off, or that indefinable _something_ , he told it to the keys. He poured his heart out, all his sadness, his fear, his loneliness, especially on the nights that his mother would have to work and Uncle Gaius would come over, ostensibly to babysit, but really to teach Merlin filthy words in foreign languages, then read the paper and fall asleep on the couch. When Merlin would come home every Sunday, after visiting his father, starched in his Sunday best, dark and sombre, he let his anger and his grief flow directly through his hands and out through the keys, conjuring up violent storms and raging gods, the sound full and wrathful and heartbreaking in its intensity, and he'd sit there and play until it was easy to forget what he had lost, easy to smile again, to joke, to pull faces and be sweet and to make the tired lines disappear from around his mother's eyes.

When Merlin was twelve and starting high school, Uncle Gaius offered Merlin lessons - proper, official lessons - and Merlin felt like all his Christmases had come at once. Suddenly there were new songs, new notes, new rules, new _things_ that he never before knew you could do with your fingers and the keys, and he devoured everything Gaius threw at him. Soon he could write songs, real, proper music, written down by him, to be played the same way again and again as many times as he liked, because he _knew how_ and it was like magic, like a whole new world had opened up to him. Will good-naturedly called him names for it, but he still snuck into the music rooms with Merlin sometimes at lunch, to keep him company as he tinkered on the fancy electronic piano with the built in metronome; and because Hunith and Gaius always took Merlin out for lunch after, he tagged along to all of Merlin's exams and sat next to him being as supportive as Will knew how, which was to slap him on the back and call him a girl, while Merlin quietly hyperventilated and begged not to be thrown out in the rubbish when he forgot the circle of fifths or failed his practical by mixing up his right and left and telling the examiner, when asked about the life and loves of this particular composer, or the date that particular piece was written, that Beethoven went to school on Mars in the early 1940s, and was exceedingly rubbish at geography but rather fond of knitting.

So it came as no surprise to anyone when Merlin announced, about half way through his final year of school, that he'd decided to audition for The Albion Conservatorium of Music, on both piano _and_ composition. Will had laughed and said Merlin had better get used to being in the handout queue with all the nuclear physicists, at which Hunith had clocked him upside the head and just asked that Merlin try to refrain from practicing at three in the morning, because Mrs Epps next door was really getting very upset with him and was probably going to make a complaint to the police. Gaius had been gruff and said "I should hope so, all the effort I've put into you," and then presented Merlin with a homemade dampener that slipped neatly between the hammers of the upright and effectively solved the 3am Mrs Epps dilemma, while simultaneously allowing Hunith a lie-in on Saturday mornings for the first time in _years_.  

What did come as a surprise to everyone though, was that Merlin got into the Albion Conservatorium. Practically self taught and with no money or family name behind him, and a 'totally rubbish' audition if you asked him ("I was _shaking_ ," Merlin wailed, "My hands were shaking so much I could barely play, it was awful!" "You're a right drama queen," Will had rolled his eyes and said, "now shut up, I'm trying to listen to the telly."), Merlin at first rang up the university and asked if there'd been some mistake, and hadn't this acceptance letter better have gone to anyone else? But it wasn't a mistake, and Merlin may have deafened his mother _and_ the long-suffering Mrs Epps with his whoop of delight.

*****

Arthur Pendragon had been born to music. His father Uther was one of the foremost conductors of his time, and his mother had been a highly respected harpist, in great demand, before her premature death shortly after Arthur was born. Some might say that music was in Arthur’s blood, that he was always going to be a musician because with such parents, such a pedigree, love and understanding and passion for that world couldn't fail but live within him, too, it was practically genetic. Some might say that he didn't ever have a choice, and that raised in any other household he might have become a builder, a baker or a candlestick maker; that it was unfair to raise a child without options like Arthur would be raised. If you asked Arthur as an adult, he might allow both to be true, to a degree. If you asked Arthur as a child, he'd tell you that he was going to play the violin because he liked it, and it was that simple.

When Arthur was three, he had his first proper music lesson. His teacher was ancient, Russian, and short tempered. He was every inch a dragon, and Arthur was terrified of him. His tiny fingers had difficulty on the sharp strings of his violin, his arm ached, and everything sounded scratchy and unpleasant, but at the end of the lesson Uther had clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d done very well, and Arthur decided right then and there he was going to be the _best_ violin player in the entire world, because it would make his father proud of him.

When Arthur was five (nearly six!), Uther remarried. His stepmother was a tall, proud, serious woman named Elaine, who snuck Arthur sweets when Uther wasn’t looking, and never scolded him for tracking mud through the house. Arthur quite liked her, even if he barely got to see her. She was the first Viola in the Camelot Philharmonic, and was always at rehearsals or performances. She always smelt of Lily of the Valley and was always so impeccably dressed that Arthur was afraid to touch her, lest he ruin her outfit somehow. She brought with her a daughter Arthur’s age from a previous marriage, Morgana. Arthur liked Morgana a fair bit less than he liked her mother. Morgana was sneaky, and fussy, and got her own way a _lot_ , which Arthur didn’t approve of because Morgana getting her way meant Arthur wasn’t getting _his_ , which was just not on. He had to share his toys, and even his music lessons! Actually, that last one wasn’t so bad, because with backup, the teacher wasn’t quite so scary. Even if he was delighted with Morgana more often than not, and despairing of Arthur, who tended to get distracted and forget what he was supposed to be doing, which Morgana was always teasing him about. She could be very mean when she wanted to be.

When Arthur and Morgana were eight, Elaine was killed in a car accident, and Arthur’s world got turned upside down. Uther had never been very jovial, never smiled much, but now he was hard and cold. He systematically removed every single trace of both of his wives from the house – all the photographs were removed from the walls, everything packed up in boxes and hidden away in storage somewhere. The only thing that remained was Elaine's viola, given to Morgana to keep, and Igraine’s harp, which had never been moved from its pride of place in the sitting room, but that nobody was allowed to touch. Morgana was like a shadow of her former self. She didn’t say anything mean to Arthur – she didn’t say anything at all. She just ghosted from room to room looking pale and tiny, which frightened and upset Arthur more than the fact that his father was unhappy or that he’d just lost his sort-of-mother, because Morgana being prickly and competitive, loud, and in Arthur’s face every waking second was as sure as the sun rising every morning. When she did finally speak it was only to yell at Arthur to leave her alone and then hit him, hard, and he was so relieved that he let her, didn’t even duck when she swung again, which made her madder and madder because he wasn’t fighting back, and when she finally got tired of him not reacting, she sat down on the floor and cried, and Arthur hugged her awkwardly and tried to ignore the fact that he might have been crying too, just a little. 

Morgana threw herself heart and soul into her music after that, seemingly finding comfort somewhere in the notes, and Arthur followed suit, because it wouldn't do for Morgana to be better than him at anything, and that was how it went. It also seemed to make his father happy - as happy as Uther ever was, anyway, and Arthur might have been young, but he already counted his father's approval as one of the most sought after, and difficult to obtain, treasures of the earth. For years, he practised till his fingers were blistered and his elbows sore, his neck and arms aching with the effort of keeping his violin raised for all those hours. He practiced and he practised and he practised because it was important to him to beat Morgana, important to him to prove to his father that he could be good, be worthy - and then all of a sudden, one day, it made sense to him. One day he got up, began his routine (always the same - scales, finger exercises, revision of exam pieces with fifteen minutes of an unrequired but challenging song at the end for 'fun'), and instead of being notes on a page, and sounds in-tune but scratchy and always a little unappealing to his ear, the music _sang_ . It spoke to him, it whispered in his ear, and he finally got it - got the look on Morgana's face when she closed her eyes and just let fly, understood her excitement and the passion of his teachers. He _felt_ the music, and it finally became not a chore but a privilege, a reward, to lock himself in his room and just play.  

Arthur had always known that he was going to be a musician, had always known that one day he would play with orchestras the world over, because he was Uther Pendragon's son and there really was no other option before him. He hadn't minded that, not really, he knew he could do it and he knew he could have a good life with it. Now, though, Arthur knew that was what he wanted, more than anything, and when he practiced it wasn't to gain his father's approval or to show Morgana that he really was better than her (because he _was,_ and one day she would admit it, dammit), it was because he _wanted_ to, and because something deep inside that he couldn't or wouldn't name _needed_ to hear, to feel, to create music in order to keep going. Music became as vital as oxygen. 

Both Arthur and Morgana auditioned for the Albion Conservatorium of Music, and both were accepted. It was the happiest day of Arthur's life, and after a formal dinner of congratulations for the both of them that Uther insisted he take them on, where they'd sat for hours in a posh restaurant, starched and ironed and being classy but restrained, Arthur and Morgana came home and locked themselves in Arthur's room, dancing merry jigs and laughing, trying to outplay each other (the competition might be entirely friendly now, but it was always there) and properly celebrating through song.


	2. Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition: initial presentation of thematic material; first major section, incorporating a minimum of one important modulation to the dominant or secondary key and presenting the principal thematic material.

For the first week, Merlin had absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing. He darted down long corridors, in and out of classrooms, always almost late and always mildly lost. The Con was a confusing, labyrinthine building without a proper map, and Merlin was equal parts overwhelmed and terrified. He spent the lunch hour of his orientation day hiding miserably in the lavatory and wishing desperately for a friend. All the other students seemed to already know each other, and worse, they all seemed overwhelmingly, irrevocably, nauseatingly posh. Merlin was decidedly  _ not _ posh. His jeans were frayed and his shirts were worn soft. His sneakers were ratty, his hair often (always) out of place, and for reasons Merlin could never work out, nine times out of ten there was a smudge of ink on his nose - but never on his manuscript. Which was good, because smudges on his work would have irritated and frustrated him and maybe, possibly, depending on where they were, broken his heart a little - but it didn't explain how the smudges got on his nose. 

Merlin's timetable was very, very full. On top of his private lessons and his instrument workshop, he had to take Classical Aural 1, Classical Theory 1, Music Improvisation and Movement (a two part class of DOOM that involved making random noises and flailing about a room in order to 'unleash your expressive creativity'), and Introduction to Romanticism. As a double major, he also had to take Composition Workshop, and that left room for one elective. Merlin chose to join the Gamelan Ensemble, which sounded awesome and amazing and right up his alley, but he suspected having to learn  _ another _ instrument on top of his other commitments was probably not the smartest of ideas. He was also, as a first year, required to participate in First Year Choir (for a university dedicated to entirely creative pursuits, they sure had difficulty coming up with creative names for things). This was an extra-curricular activity, and you didn't get marked for it - but 100% participation was a pre-requisite for all second year subjects. There were also lunch time concerts he had to attend, and lunch time concerts he had to  _ give _ , and, as a pianist, lunch time concerts he had to play accompaniment for, once the music masters had paired them up with a suitable soloist. 

Much to Merlin's relief, his private piano tutor was Gaius.

"I pulled some strings," he said as Merlin idled outside of the larger lecture hall, Gaius having given the first in a long series of lectures on the Romantic era, "and you're with me for the foreseeable future. Not that I'd want to inflict you on anyone else here." He then handed Merlin a sizeable list of pieces and told him to look for them in the library before their first lesson, as he'd be learning them all. Merlin, because he was easy to please and not a little bit geeky, found this terribly exciting, so many new things to learn, and he'd have gone straight to the library to max out his photocopy budget for the semester, if not for the fact that he was now running quite, quite late for his next class - the movement half of Improvisation and Movement. 

Merlin stuck his head gingerly around the door. They'd already started.

"Alright, ladies and gentleman!" the teacher, an eccentric older woman named Catrina, who appeared to be wearing a tutu, was saying, "When I start the music, I want you to let it move you! Go with what you feel inside! Don't follow the beat, don't be tied down by convention, follow your heart! Move freely around the room, flail and dance and sing! Whatever you feel is what is  _ right _ !” Merlin watched as she turned around and pressed play on an old portable CD/Radio, and a weird afro/Celt fusion filtered through the tinny speakers. "Move, students, move!" she cried, lifted her arms, and began to sway about the room. Merlin waited until everyone else had started moving too, and Catrina was distracted by chastising one of the percussionists, who had decided that The Robot was what he felt inside ("The only person who felt that inside them, who truly felt The Robot, was the man who invented it!" she was saying, "Find something new and  _ only you _ !"), before darting inside the room (a cavernous space usually reserved for the vocal majors to practice in), arms raised and twirling in mad circles so that nobody would notice he was late. Unfortunately for Merlin, though the teacher didn't notice his abrupt entrance, he twirled right into another student and sent them both flying. 

"I'm so sorry!" Merlin apologised, stricken, picking himself up off the dusty floor and offering a hand to his poor victim, a small dark girl with a mop of curly hair. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" 

"I'm fine!" she giggled, accepting his hand and dusting herself off a bit, "But next time you want my attention, you should just tap me on the shoulder or call my name or something. Not that I think you wanted my attention! Obviously I know it was an accident. I mean - "

"How do you know, though?" said Merlin, "What if it was all part of some dastardly plot of mine to make you look bad in front of the teacher? Now she probably thinks what's in your heart is to fall in a heap on the floor." He waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a dramatic fashion.

The girl gaped for a moment, then giggled. "Well then, I don't know what I did to come to the notice of such an evil genius," she said, "but it must have been pretty spectacular." She grinned up at him. "I'm Gwen, by the way. Clarinet. Pleased to meet you, I think."

"Merlin, piano and composition." 

"Move, students!" Catrina suddenly flailed up to them, "I will never believe that what this music makes you feel is the urge to stand still and idly gossip!"

"I've got Aural Studies with Nimueh Lake next." Gwen said, swaying gently away, "See you there?"

Merlin grinned and nodded, and let himself move to the music again, albeit this time a little more carefully. Today was looking up.

*****

Merlin had always liked Aural Studies. He found it easy and fun, especially since he now had a friend to sit with. When he got there, almost-but-not-quite late (because he'd gotten lost  _ again _ , this was getting ridiculous), Gwen was already sitting with someone, a tall, pale girl who looked like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Merlin's nerve very nearly failed him - would it be right for him to just plonk himself down next to Gwen and interrupt? She  _ had _ said she'd see him, but that didn't mean she wanted to sit with him and he had, after all, nearly given her a concussion not an hour ago - but Gwen turned around and waved him over, stopping Merlin's (ridiculously un-manly, really, he had to get over this) anxiety attack dead in it's tracks. 

"This is Morgana," Gwen said, when Merlin sat down, "She's on Viola. Morgana, this is Merlin, he's in Movement with me. He's piano and composition."

Morgana leant over, but whatever she was going to say was abruptly cut short as the lecturer swept into the room. Nimueh Lake was a commanding woman with a frighteningly intense gaze, and whose love of all things aural was actually rather frightening. It was her  _ passion _ , and Merlin quickly discovered that, while he might have been tip top brilliant at notation and clapping back and everything high-school level aural studies contained, he was going to have to work rather hard indeed to keep up to speed with everything she threw at them - and Nimueh threw a  _ lot _ at them. There were pieces to memorise in solfège (moveable, apparently, which to Merlin seemed silly because no matter what key it was in, a C was still a C and therefore should still be a Do. Making a G# a Do felt tantamount to blasphemy), and apparently it was now vital to Merlin's existence that he be able to instantaneously identify the difference between a minor-major 7th and an augmented major 7th chord, and all the other different types of 7th chords in quick succession, and then notate them down accurately with an accompaniment.

"That was a bit..." Merlin said when Nimueh finally released them for lunch, "intense." The small canteen was full, so they made their way out to the lawn in front of the building, just beating a group of the jazz students to the last shady spot beneath a tree.

"That was our first lesson," said Morgana, "and I am forcibly reminded why I hate that entire subject, and also her face, with a passion."

"Morgana had private lessons with Nimueh before the auditions," Gwen explained, "because her step-father wanted to give her the best chance at gaining a place here."

"No, because Uther wanted to punish me for nicking his car when I snuck out," Morgana sniffed, "and that is the best and most effective way he could think of doing so without having to actually lift a finger."

"Uther?" Merlin asked, "Not the guy who gave that long speech on orientation day?"

"The very one," Morgana pulled a face, "So it's not even like I wasn't going to get in here. You can't exactly  _ deny entry _ to the Dean's kids, can you? Not that I don't deserve to get in and didn't work my fingers to the bone for years for it, but really, I didn't have any nerves because telling Uther no is likely to get you murdered by a ball point pen at the next staff meeting."

"She's lying," Gwen said cheerily, "she was a total wreck for months and months, and I couldn't say a word to her for a week before the audition right to when she got the call. And then I still didn't say anything to her because she rang me up and shrieked in my ear for an hour."

"Those are Trade Secrets, Gwen, and now I shall have to kill you both." Morgana said sourly, pointing a banana at them both accusingly.

*****

And just like that, Merlin had friends. He sat with Gwen and Morgana in lectures, and tried (but sadly failed) to pass himself off as an alto in Firsts Choir - nevertheless, he got to stand directly behind the girls and joke and gossip in between pieces, until the choir master glared hard enough to shut everybody up. Firsts Choir was actually pretty boring. The choirmaster was a fan of modern, contemporary pieces, and any music that sounded more like random noise than anything else. After listening to the strange little man give a fifteen minute lecture on the pure genius of Schoenberg's 12 Tone system and explaining why, exactly, he was so very passionate about Steve Reich, Merlin concluded that if nothing else, his time spent in practice here would be a fabulous exercise in patience and self control, and resigned himself to a long and painful two hours every Thursday afternoon. The only good part was it was just his attendance and participation that was required - he could sing completely out of tune and still pass, so long as he was there, his mouth was open, and sound was coming out. Given that part of their repertoire was going to be atonal, being in tune wasn't going to be all that important either. Merlin already felt sorry for his Mum when she inevitably came to his end of year performance.

Thursdays were, in fact, Merlin's least favourite days, because directly after choir practice came Classical Theory. Merlin had never done theory like this before. All his books on it were the children's workbooks, with clear directions, clearer explanations, and an answer sheet in the back for if he got stuck. He'd dutifully worked his way through the first five grade levels, mostly on his own but occasionally with small help from Gaius. Since that was the minimum level required for entry into the Albion Conservatorium, that was where he'd stopped. If he got in, surely they'd teach him from there, Merlin reasoned, and since Gaius didn't have a very high opinion of the private exams or examiners (being one himself), and you had to pay through the nose to sit them, Merlin hadn't bothered even flicking through the Grade 6 workbook on one of his frequent trips to the music shop in the main street of Ealdor.

He was beginning to regret that now, staring at the textbook before him, filled with incomprehensible jargon and diagrams that, apart from being fragments of different scores, may as well have been illustrating how to fly to the moon for all Merlin could make out what, exactly, he was supposed to be looking at. For someone who had prided himself on getting full marks on all of his previous theory exams, the sudden realisation that he wasn't nearly as smart as he thought he was hit Merlin pretty hard. To make matters worse, neither Gwen nor Morgana were in this class, so he was once again alone in a room of strangers. 

_ Help, I've made a mistake, I want to join the circus! _ Merlin sent off a panicked text to Will as someone sat down next to him without so much as a by-your-leave, an 'is someone sitting here?' or even a nod hello. The reply he got back almost immediately (meaning Will was probably in class himself, and bored to the back teeth), was thoroughly unhelpful and unsympathetic. It simply read  _ lol, _ and really, Merlin supposed he shouldn't be at all surprised about that. 

"Turn that off," said the stranger sitting next to him, "Valiant will hit the roof if he catches you with a phone."

For all the sudden communication was sharp and not at all conducive to conversation, the lecturer hadn't yet arrived and Merlin was grateful enough to this boy to try and be a normal person and socialise.

"Thanks for the heads up," he said, tucking his (now on silent) phone away into the ratty bag he’d carelessly slung under his chair, contents spilling out beneath his feet. "I'm Merlin, by the way. Composition and Piano." He held out his hand.

The other boy surveyed him incredulously, looking down at Merlin's hand as though it were slightly diseased. He didn't take it. "Arthur," he said eventually, " _ Don't  _ mention it." and though it was a typical sort of response, the intonation this Arthur had given it spoke volumes about exactly how much he did  _ not _ want to talk. Merlin lowered his hand, irritated and self conscious, as Arthur then immediately turned behind him to laugh and joke with someone else - Leon, if Merlin remembered correctly - and Merlin resolved not to mention anything to Arthur again.

He managed to keep that resolution until near the end of the (long, confusing, dull) lesson, when the lecturer put up a formula for avoiding parallels [ [ 6 ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Consecutive_fifths) ] in composition, gave them a long and complex progression, and told them to have at it. Merlin couldn't make hide nor hair of this formula - it was, to him, unnecessarily complicated - but Gaius had taught him how to do this years ago "You'll never, ever get it wrong, Merlin, if you go about it this way.” so Merlin just went with what he knew. After all, you weren't marked on your workings, just your end result. This resulted in Merlin having finished some minutes before everyone else in the room, which evidently caught the notice of Arthur, who was - not struggling, exactly, but working slowly and methodically and concentrating a fair bit.

"You haven't done it right," he said condescendingly, peering over at Merlin's page. 

"Have so." Merlin replied, and went back to doodling tiny fragments of his latest composition in the margins of his notebook.

"It looks nothing like what's up there," Arthur insisted, "You've got it  _ wrong _ ."

"I think you'll find that my work is flawless," Merlin sniffed, debating whether or not to add a fermata to the end of a phrase. Arthur opened his mouth to argue when the lecturer appeared at their side. 

"Is there a problem?" he asked, "I notice you are talking, perhaps you do not understand?"

"I'm finished, sir." Merlin said honestly, and Valiant lent over to check his work.

"Good, good," he said finally, "Just stay quiet now, the others are still going. You have done wrong there,” he added pointing at the very beginning of Arthur's work, "Everything else will be off now, start again." and with that he patted the back of Merlin's chair and went over to help someone three rows down, who'd been trying to look cool while frantically waving their hand in the air for about ten minutes. 

Arthur gave Merlin a disgusted look. "You should do it this way," he said, "otherwise you're not learning anything." He scrubbed furiously at his page with an eraser.

"My way works just fine," Merlin replied evenly, "so thanks, but I'll stick with this, if it's all the same to you."

*****

Quite apart from the fact that it was the end of the week, Friday was Merlin's favourite day. After Gamelan ensemble in the morning, he had hours to while away in the library, looking over old scores and fascinating, musty books before reporting to Gaius for his private lesson, which was immediately followed by keyboard workshop. Gaius was exactly what Merlin expected him to be as a teacher - gruff and exacting, harder on Merlin than perhaps any of the other teachers would be due to a combination of their family relationship and Gaius knowing exactly where Merlin's limits and interests were, and how much he could push and bend them to improvement. Whereas another tutor might have taken weeks or even months to discover the right way to teach, how far to push and when to hold back, Gaius already knew Merlin and Merlin's playing inside out. Which was why Merlin found himself piled high with new pieces to work on, with an exacting schedule of required lunchtime concerts and what he was and was not allowed to perform at each one. 

"It took a lot of string pulling to get you as my student," Gaius told him again, "and you are going to repay me by practising till your fingers bleed. Then you'll stop only long enough to wipe the blood from the keys before you  _ keep going _ , do you understand?"

"Well, yes," said Merlin, "but it sounds absolutely horrible. Is this your way of telling me I should take up the trumpet?"

"Merlin," Gaius levelled him with a Look TM . Merlin was mostly immune to those by now. "Out of all the people who auditioned, out of all those who were accepted, you are far and away the one with the most potential, and I won't let you fail to live up to it. By all means, take up one or two or ten or thirty other instruments, but remember that I know where you live and if you don't do as well as I know you can, I will find you and tell your mother about that time I caught you and Will down in the - "

"No, no, it's okay, I'll stick with the piano." Merlin promised hastily, "Only joking, ha ha, let's get on with the lesson, shall we?"

"Well," said Gaius when their hour was up, "you know what you have to work on. I'll see you on Sunday, and I want to hear some improvement by then. Now hurry up or you'll be late for workshop, and Professor Kilgarrah is assigning the accompanists. I'm not joking when I say he'll eat you alive if you're late."

Coming from Gaius, that was quite an intimidating idea. Nobody frightened Gaius,  _ nobody _ , so Merlin hurried through the rabbit warren that was the lower levels of the Conservatorium, sliding into the first empty seat he found when he finally made it to the right classroom, just in time. Kilgarrah had just started announcing accompanists, and didn't seem to notice Merlin at all. Unfortunately, that seat just happened to be next to the rude, unsociable boy from Theory. What was his name?

"Arthur Pendragon," the deep, almost gravelly voice of Kilgarrah cut through Merlin's thoughts and interrupted the not unsubstantial glare the other boy was giving him, for being late or for daring to exist, Merlin couldn't quite tell.

"Yes, sir?" Arthur said, sitting up a little straighter.

"Your accompanist will be Merlin Emrys, who I see you already know. You've been assigned practice room 450b on Thursdays from 7pm till close, and Mondays and Tuesdays at 4pm through 8pm. You are free to use the room at other times provided it is not reserved. This can be checked by going on Blackboard [ [ 7 ](http://i52.tinypic.com/30ry41w.jpg) ] and consulting the timetable, and by double-checking with the booking folder placed outside the practice room corridor. Please collect your keys from Security as soon as possible, and I highly encourage you to utilise all of your allocated practice times, as well as meeting privately. You should have received your performance timetables in your private lessons?"

Arthur and Merlin nodded mutely.

"Good. I look forward to your first performance.” and with that, Kilgarrah moved on to the next pair.

*****

"Great." said Arthur, when they'd been let out of the lesson. "Just great." 

"What?" said Merlin, who was quite looking forward to the idea of lunchtime concerts. "What is your problem? This could be fun!"

"I have to have you as my accompanist?" Arthur hissed. "That is a complete joke."

"You have never heard me play." Merlin snapped. "You have no idea how good or bad I may or may not be. But since you asked - I'm actually pretty brilliant."

"How many of the pre-enrolment courses did you do?" Arthur asked

"None of them." Merlin answered honestly. He'd have liked to have come along, but they were thousands of dollars each. Gaius insisted that it wasn't necessary and Merlin had had to just put up with missing out on opportunities to meet and greet people, and get a taste for university life before he'd even graduated high school. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Who were your teachers?" Arthur went on, "How many orchestras do you play in? How many of the professors here do you know, who gave you extra lessons or guidance?"

"Gaius," Merlin said, "Gaius was my teacher, still is my teacher, I play in exactly zero orchestras because I am a  _ pianist _ and there generally aren't places for us there, don’t know if you’ve ever noticed that, and I've never met any of the people who work here except for Professor Monmouth one time when my mother and I went to Gaius' for dinner."

"So you come from nowhere," Arthur continued, "and you've had a defective and incomplete education. You're only in here because Gaius wanted you, and he's a friend of my father's. I'm damn good. I've been taught by the best people since I could first hold a violin. They've saddled me with you because they think I'll be able to carry you along, to keep Gaius happy and make it look like you're halfway decent. I watched you in class the other day. You have absolutely no idea what you're doing, and I am telling you right now that I will not be brought down by your incompetence. Do you understand me?"

Merlin was stunned, for a moment, to silence. Arthur stood there before him, glowering, waiting for - what, an apology? Agreement? Fat chance. Merlin didn’t think he’d been so angry in his life.

"You are the rudest person I have ever met," Merlin almost spat through gritted teeth, "and you're lucky that my mother taught me manners or I'd have already punched you square in the face. I'm not an idiot - I get it. For whatever reason, you don't like me, and quite frankly I couldn't give less of a damn why. I will see you Monday at four, and you had better be as good as you think you are." and with that he stalked off, because it was leave in a huff or hurt somebody - and for all Merlin threw himself into everything heart and soul, he was still keenly aware that when it came to physical activities like sports or fighting, and he'd probably lose. Plus, Gaius would get wind of it and then there'd be hell to pay. He had no idea what he'd done to piss Arthur off - probably pissed off and up himself was Arthur's default setting - but if nothing else, he was now more determined than ever to outshine even Gaius' truly horrendously high expectations, just so that he could rub it in Arthur's stupid, spoilt little face.


	3. Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Development: free fantasia; the transformation and restatement of the initial material.

Arthur arrived exactly five minutes early for his first practice session with Merlin. He had to give five lunchtime performances to give, this year, and each one required two new pieces learnt forwards and backwards and inside out. His first performance was only weeks away. His teacher - and Arthur had been lucky or unlucky enough, depending on which way you look at it, to be assigned to Professor Kilgarrah, the head of his school - had already told him which pieces he'd be playing and when, and in a fit of micromanagement that could rival even Uther Pendragon the summer he fractured his ankle and, confined to the couch, had divided up Arthur and Morgana's days into fifteen minute increments, had even drawn him up a practice timetable. Arthur had already gotten copies of all his pieces, for performance and private, and all that remained was for him to see just how good this self proclaimed 'kind of brilliant' pianist was. Arthur already knew two other pianists who would gladly take over if his accompanist weren’t up to the task, who wouldn't embarrass him or make him look bad. Arthur may not have liked Alvarr and Edwin overmuch, but he'd met them years ago on one of the many extra-curricular courses his father had sent him to, and he knew he could trust them to support him with a decent enough performance. 

Apart from the fact that he and this Merlin had started off on the wrong foot, his main problem was that he simply didn't trust him. Merlin was an enigma. He was obviously from a totally different level than everyone else, socially. He knew nobody and he came from nowhere. His only real link was his uncle Gaius, but Arthur had known Gaius his entire life and never heard mention of this Merlin before. Not that he remembered, anyway. Surely Gaius would have made a big deal about this Merlin if he'd been anything special. Arthur could only suppose Merlin had been accepted into the conservatorium out of pity and as a favour to Gaius, and now Arthur was stuck with him. If his grades suffered, this Merlin was going to pay.

By the time Merlin got there (three minutes late), Arthur had already started practicing, a single fragment where the phrasing wasn't as seamless as he'd like it to be. 

"You're late," he said gruffly, not looking up, "The pieces I'm playing are on the piano for you."

"All right," Merlin said seating himself and leaning in close to examine the music, "Play it through for me."

Arthur did look up then. "The whole point of an accompanist is that they  _ play in accompaniment, _ " he said, "Not sit there making the place look untidy."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to play with you, I need to know how you're interpreting the piece," he explained somewhat patronisingly, setting Arthur's teeth on edge again, "otherwise it's just two people blundering alongside each other, playing two completely separate things that just happen not to clash horribly. My part is a compliment to yours, the other half of it. To fit together properly, to work together properly, we need to play it together, which can only happen if you run through first and explain your thinking and what you and your teacher want."

Arthur couldn't argue with that, actually, so he played first through one piece, then the other with the fiddly phrasing, while Merlin stared at him unseeing (which was a bit unnerving, actually), and occasionally scribbled on the score with a well-chewed pencil.

"I think that's done," Merlin said, "and I'm just sight-reading, remember, since you didn't get these to me earlier, so don't mind any mistakes I make." He sounded a little defensive and Arthur prepared himself for a start-and-stop, lead-fingers run through. Much to his surprise, however, he didn't seem to hear any mistakes, concentrating though he was on his own part. 

"Have you played these pieces before?" Arthur demanded when they'd finished.

Merlin smirked, "Told you I was good." He made a few more notations on the score in front of him. "You're not quite as bad as I thought you'd be, either," he went on "Daddy's little prodigy that you are, I was expecting the worst. Sloppy, bad taste, poor technique - "

Arthur spluttered in indignation "I -  _ not quite as bad _ \- excuse  _ you _ , I'm not bad at all!" It wasn't exactly an eloquent argument, but there was something about Merlin that sent Arthur's brain a little skewiff.

Merlin just grinned cheekily back at him, practically radiating smugness. "That's the spirit," he said, "you'll get there one day if you just keep believing. Go again?"

Arthur glared and lifted his violin up to his shoulder once more, playing the opening phrase with more force than Kreisler had probably intended, originally, and so began quite possibly the strangest friendship of Arthur's life.

*****

After that, Merlin and Arthur got on. Mostly. Sometimes. For brief periods. Casual observers would see two young men who didn't dislike one another - in fact quite enjoyed each other's company, until anybody else was involved or somebody pointed out to them that they were, in fact, friends. Because if you asked Arthur, they weren't. Absolutely not. 

Merlin quickly came to understand that yes, his first assumptions about Arthur had been absolutely one hundred percent correct - he was spoilt, arrogant, rude, and was quite possibly the biggest prat on the face of the earth. However, it didn't take him long to realise that, in spite of all these things, Arthur was also a nice person, surprisingly kind and a very good friend. Arthur was honest, completely honest, and Merlin soon discovered that he had a passion for Early and Medieval music, hated Mozart seemingly on principle and would never, ever tire of Bach or Bazzini. Once the initial standoffishness was rubbed away (mostly by the sheer force of Merlin's personality), Merlin found that he genuinely liked spending time with Arthur, even when they weren't practicing. He liked poking holes in the tough-man façade that Arthur worked so hard to maintain for no reason that Merlin could see. He liked pulling faces at Arthur when he knew Arthur wasn't allowed to laugh or react, liked making fun of him and stealing bits of his lunch not because he was hungry, but just to see Arthur screw his mouth up in annoyance and look dour at him over the rims of the reading glasses that he only wore when he was tired. Arthur had a dry, twisted sort of sense of humour that was a little left of centre, Merlin found, and though it wasn't very often, every now and then he came out with something that left Merlin's ribs aching from laughing too long. 

Merlin also quickly realised that if he wasn't careful, his totally objective observation that Arthur was in fact very, very handsome and had lovely-looking hands might turn into something not very objective at all. But, then again, Merlin had never been careful in his life, so why start now? Arthur wasn't making it easy at any rate, coaching Merlin through his debilitating attacks of performance anxiety, which he fully expected to be taunted about when, after failing miserably to hide them, Arthur found him hiding behind the piano before their first lunchtime concert. He'd been unexpectedly gentle and encouraging, given that his own anxiety about his grades made him snappish and irritable on the best of days, and Merlin drew courage from the firm pressure of Arthur's hand on his shoulder in reassurance, the steady look and confident nod he gave before raising his bow to let out a peel of notes and begin the concert. Before his own concert, too (which was  _ so much worse _ because Merlin was going to be up there  _ alone _ and he'd never performed alone in his entire life, except for examiners, one on one in tiny rooms at the end of musty corridors), Arthur was there, joking about Merlin's ears upsetting the acoustics in the concert hall, and sitting right up the front, notepaper and pen at the ready to write a terrible review if Merlin was even one iota less than the brilliant he kept promising Arthur that he really was. So if he fell for him, just a little, it wasn't Merlin's fault, not really. Besides, that didn't matter. Merlin was so grateful that he had friends, plural, amazing friends that he was more than happy if the only thing he got in return was amazing inspiration for his compositions, and diverting his feelings into notes on paper had always been second nature to him. The more time Merlin spent with Arthur the more he understood him, and the more he liked him in spite of (and sometimes because of) his continuing to be spoilt, and rude, and arrogant, and secretly a very wonderful person. Deep down.

*****

Arthur, on the other hand, well. Merlin was nothing like Arthur ever assumed he'd be like, snap judgements formed at first sight aside, and nothing again like any friend he'd ever had before in his life. Leon, Geraint, and Lance were great, really solid fellows, but they weren't anything like Merlin, not that he could really put his finger on the difference. Merlin was just -- special, somehow. Arthur found that, after their original disagreement had been resolved - that is, Arthur had manfully  _ not  _ apologised for his original rudeness and mistaken assumptions, instead making some banal comment on the relative difficulty of the pieces, and Merlin had thankfully completely understood and showed Arthur was forgiven by never bringing it up again - Merlin was just always  _ around _ somehow. 

Arthur tripped over him (literally) in corridors and ran into him (figuratively) at local pubs during lunch breaks and skipped lectures. He irritated Arthur by constantly phasing out into his own little world; humming fragments of a song only he could hear. Arthur frequently caught him staring into space and conducting, playing, fingering out invisible music. Half the time in lectures he didn't pay any attention, because he'd start absent-mindedly doodling a part of his latest composition in the margins, and inspiration would take him. Sentences about structure and thematicism would turn into hastily scribbled scores, and it became habit for Arthur to hand over his own notes for Merlin to photocopy, margins always clear and copperplate handwriting freakishly neat. 

Merlin amazed Arthur (though he'd never admit it out loud) with his freakish perfect pitch and total recall, and got him into trouble more than once by telling whispering terrible (hilarious, dirty, wrong) jokes in firsts choir practice and making him laugh. He also saved Arthur's hide more than once by having _ just _ the reference Arthur needed to finish an assignment, or knowing the  _ exact _ shelf in the library where he'd find the totally obscure score he needed for an analysis or comparison, even if it was so old and so little used that the librarians hadn't even bothered putting it in the electronic database. It wasn't long before, when, after complaining about Merlin and how useless he was, upon being questioned by Morgana about what, exactly, he didn't like about Merlin (in dangerous tones - Merlin was still very much  _ her friend _ and woe betide any who crossed him when Morgana was about), Arthur, after some reflection, couldn't come up with anything more serious than 'his ears are stupid and he smiles like a lunatic'. Even Merlin's ridiculous fits of nerves before any and  _ every _ performance didn't seem like the same sort of weakness that sort of display from himself or Morgana would be. 

Arthur learnt that Merlin had terrible top-40 taste in music, had a love bordering on indecent with Rameau and Satie, and, as far as he could tell, an abusive relationship with Chopin. From where Arthur sat, Chopin would be his usual, almost passive-aggressive self, and Merlin would complain and throw his book to the floor and insist he was never, ever, ever going back, he couldn't do it, call Chopin all the names under the sun, and within twenty minutes have picked it up and apologised, and would be dutifully going back over whatever phrase had driven him mad before, trying to combine the right level of emotional intensity with technical perfection. Merlin cared very, very deeply for emotional intensity. Arthur had never before realised just how many ways you could play something, how many different moods you could give a piece just by making the subtlest of changes, until he'd sat in on one of Merlin's 'pre-Gaius' lessons-emergency-panic-practice sessions'. Arthur had always thought that the way you played the piece was the way it was written - the composer knew what they wanted when they marked this phrase fortissimo, this phrase adagio, crescendo here and fermata there. Practice it till you could get it to the appropriate tempo, and you were playing it as you were supposed to. But Merlin insisted on puzzling out the story behind the song, and could spend hours finding the exact way to play the tiniest fragment just right. Technical perfection could come later, music was expression and emotion, and Merlin was going to express it properly. 

Merlin, Arthur found, was also unbelievably thoughtful and kind. Upon discovering, via Morgana, that Arthur's birthday was fast approaching, he'd apparently struck out on a quest to get Arthur the perfect present, and came up with something so honestly amazing that Arthur knew nothing would ever be able to top.

"What are these?" Arthur asked, unwrapping a pile of CDs, some of them obviously foreign. "What language is that?"

"Welsh," said Merlin, "and those are CDs. You can play them in a CD player, and hear music. It's this amazing modern invention, I thought you would have heard of it."

"Ha ha," Arthur rolled his eyes, flipping through, "they look great, but why all this harp stuff? Is this because when you raided my collection last month you decided I wasn't well rounded enough for your high-faluting composition major tastes?"

"No, although you're not, but we can work on that together later." Merlin said, and then quietly, "I know how you were brought up, and I think it's really, really sad that you never got to hear your mother play. Morgana told me her name, and it turns out she was actually really well known and respected, Arthur. These are all the CDs I could find that she's played on."

Arthur looked up sharply. Merlin nodded at him, and gently taking one of the CDs from the pile, turned it over. Sure enough, there on the back in tiny font -  _ featuring Igraine Tintagel _ . Arthur didn't know what to say. 

"I - " he began. "Merlin, - " 

"You're welcome." said Merlin, who then gave him a quick hug and being the sort of top notch fellow that he so clearly was, ignored the fact that Arthur then had to wipe his eyes on the back of his sleeve.

Merlin was definitely the best friend Arthur had ever had, which made it all the more weird when just before the mid-year break, he suddenly realised that he, maybe, was a little bit in love with Merlin. Certainly, he was attracted to him (despite or because of the ears and lunatic grin, Arthur didn't want to investigate). It didn't help that this sudden realisation was a) completely out of the blue, and b) coupled with a strong desire to taste Merlin's hipbones. Arthur was standing in the doorway of the practice room, caught frozen - Merlin had dragged in a second piano stool from God-knew-where, no respect for rules, and had made a makeshift bench, upon which he was lying flat on his back. One hand was lazily tapping out a tune up on the keyboard, the other arm slung lazily over Merlin's face, presumably to block out the sunlight streaming through the window, while he hummed a second complimentary part just under his breath. Merlin's shirt was riding up just a bit, exposing just enough skin to apparently trigger the sort of lightbulb moment that could short out the wiring in Arthur's brain.

"You can stand there all day looking pretty," Merlin's voice was slightly muffled, "but you're not, actually, and I know how you hate failure and if I send you home to your sister in the foul sort of mood you're usually in when you remember that your face frightens small children and turns even the bravest of souls to stone, she'll have my hide."

"Charming," Arthur managed to drag his eyes away from the hint of bare skin and tear his hand from the doorknob, but only just. Practice wasn't very productive that day - or at least it didn't feel very productive. If Merlin noticed anything, he didn't let on, and Arthur was too busy caught up in his own head to notice or concentrate on much else.

*****

Things got a little weird, after that. It took Arthur a little while to sort it all in his brain, because being the sort of person who likes to understand the hows and whytofors, he had to puzzle back through and see, firstly, how such a thing as falling for his ridiculous accompanist friend could have happened, and secondly, whether he'd been accidentally making a fool of himself because his subconscious mind hadn't let his conscious brain in on the secret right away. 

The answers he came up with - 'no idea' and 'probably not' - weren't exactly comforting. After a weekend of sleepless nights, where Arthur ran backwards and forwards and over and under and through, he came to the conclusion that Merlin probably didn't - no, definitely couldn't - reciprocate - after all, he was normally so very expressive and demonstrative that, surely if he did, Arthur would have known. Or Morgana, who spent nearly as much time with Merlin as Arthur did, and who would have said something about it. Therefore the best and only possible course of action was for Arthur to continue as normal, or slightly less than normal - drawing back a bit would probably help - and pretend that nothing had changed, no epiphany had taken place, until he could get the better of himself. He had to get the better of himself. He did like being friends with Merlin, a lot, whatever he might say when confronted about it. Merlin was the easiest person to get on with that Arthur had ever met, and the best friend Arthur had ever had. He wasn't going to ruin that over a stupid crush. A voice in his head told him that it was a little more than that, that his admiration for Lance when they were in high school had been a crush, but this thing with Merlin was something more substantial, less transient, but he ignored it. No, he would simply pretend that everything was as it should be. This was easier decided upon than done, however, and so Arthur was feeling a little unsteady in himself the next time he saw Merlin. 

"Merlin," said Arthur by way of greeting, then internally winced because his voice sounded particularly gruff and cranky, when he'd been going for a 'casual don't-mind-me nothing-to-see-here' sort of vibe. He dropped his bag on the floor, careless, and sat down at the table in a huff. It was Monday though, so surely that could be taken as a sort of Mondayitis thing? Oh God, he was thinking about this far too much. He was allowed to be cranky; everyone was, so today could just be one of those days, and if anyone called him on it that would be what he would tell them.

"Feeling a bit out of sorts today, are we, Princess?" Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, "Royal carriage late running late? Favourite poufy ball gown at the dry cleaners? Glass slipper broke a heel?"

Arthur glared, feeling literally cranky now. "Princess. Really."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm trying out new nicknames. It's not really a 'prat' sort of day, today. I'm thinking of Champ for Gwen and Toots for Morgana, what do you think?"

"Your funeral," Arthur said, nicking Merlin's bag of crisps. 

"You coming to my concert today?" Merlin asked. "We're setting up in the foyer because the concert hall is too small for us. It should echo like mad but it'll sound amazing. If you get there early I might be able to let you have a go, too."

"Yeah," said Arthur, fishing for an excuse, any excuse, not to watch Merlin play, which was one of his favourite things to do and therefore, in light of everything, something he must absolutely avoid at all costs. "I mean, no, don't think I'll - I have class."

"It's at lunchtime," Merlin said. "You don't have class at lunchtime. I came to your concert - I've come to all of your concerts!"

"Merlin, you're my accompanist. You have to be there." Arthur pointed out, squirming a little in his seat, looking down.

"I'd have turned up anyway," sniffed Merlin, looking hurt, "because that is what friends do. I'd have turned up and written terrible reviews about you that I absolutely didn't mean a word of, but I'd write them anyway to stop your ego exploding and killing us all. Stop being a weirdo and come watch me play. You'll like it, the Gamelan is awesome." 

What could Arthur say to that? Merlin was looking confused and sad and hurt, and really, it was just a concert. One that, if he was honest, he had been looking forward to ever since Merlin had started raving about the Gamelan to him at the beginning of the year. So Arthur found himself sitting next to Morgana and Gwen at lunch, watching Merlin help set up enormous gongs and rows upon rows of shiny brassy contraptions.

"What's up your nose, today?" Morgana elbowed him in the ribs. Arthur realised he'd been scowling. 

"Nothing." Arthur said curtly, "Just...don't want to be here, that's all."

Morgana frowned slightly, and Arthur ignored her in favour of watching Merlin kneel down in front of one of the smaller instruments - the gender? Arthur couldn't quite remember - and settled in, obviously preparing himself for the beginning of the concert. He looked nervous as he scanned the crowd, but when he found Arthur and Morgana his face lit up, and he waved. Morgana waved back. Arthur crossed his arms and looked away, pretending not to have seen.

"Did you two have a fight?" Morgana asked, sounding a little confused, and on the other side of her Gwen immediately looked very concerned. 

"Talk to him," she said gently. Gwen was always so sweet and gentle, and Arthur could see why she and Merlin got on so well. How someone so nice and not made of pure evil (as he frequently told people Morgana was), could get on so well with Morgana, Arthur had yet to figure out.

"No," Arthur said, "I just. It's nothing, don't worry about it. Merlin's fine. I'm fine." Morgana opened her mouth to challenge him - Arthur had never been a very good liar - but the concert started and Arthur was spared.

*****

It was beautiful music, almost ethereal. The best Arthur could liken it to was if somebody notated a rainstorm, this is what it would sound like played back. Everything was slightly out of time, slightly out of tune, and from that chaos somehow order was created - an order so gentle and so peaceful that even the most rebellious soul would wilfully submit to it. Arthur could see why Merlin loved it so much. For someone like Merlin, who interpreted the whole world through sounds that meshed together to create his reality, being a part of an instrument ensemble that could only work if it functioned together in the same way his brain must, would feel a little bit like coming home. There'd be a comfortable familiarity with it, even though the tuning and the time signatures were completely foreign, that would be lovely and a little bit special. The sheer joy on Merlin's face while he played, lost in the music, proved this to Arthur at least, and watching him made Arthur feel a curious mix of happy and privileged to see it, see Merlin like this, and regretting that he came entirely.

When it was over, Arthur hung awkwardly back and dawdled, hands in his pockets as the girls rushed forward to gush over the performance. He was about to square his shoulders and move forward, finally, when Merlin suddenly leapt in the air with a whoop of joy, and literally hurled himself through the small crowd of students that made up the audience and threw himself  _ onto  _ a young man, whose broad face was grinning widely in what Arthur supposed must be a pretty good mirror of Merlin's own expression. When Merlin finally drew back, arm still slung tight around the other man's shoulders, Arthur felt something hot and nasty clench in his gut, and he forced himself to stay where he was, not turn away. This must be Merlin's - of course Merlin had someone, and if they weren't together yet then - they were obviously very close, this was good, Arthur could use this. The less he liked it, the better it would be for him in the long run. 

"Arthur!" Merlin called then, and Arthur forced himself to smile back, walk over, congratulate him. 

"That was," he said, "you were really good."

"Arthur, this is Will," Merlin grinned.

"Oh so  _ you're _ Arthur," said Will, "Merlin talks so much about you I was starting to feel like I'd been replaced." He turned to grin at Merlin, who was busy talking to the girls and hadn't heard.

"Well, er," said Arthur, awkward, "I've heard a lot about you, too." Merlin was always casually mentioning a Will. Arthur felt a right fool for not picking up on this before hand. 

"We're off to the pub for lunch, are you coming?" Merlin interrupted.

"No," said Arthur reflexively, and tried to ignore the way Merlin's face fell. "I've got a lot of practice I need to do." It was only a half-lie, after all. Arthur didn't need to practice anything particularly, he was sorted at least for the next while, but Merlin wasn't to know that. 

"Okay then." Merlin said, subdued but understanding. "See you later then."

"Nice meeting you," said Will.

"Yeah," said Arthur half-heartedly, "See you round."

After that, he avoided Merlin as much as he could. He stopped hanging out after class and on weekends, claiming work or study or practice. He forced himself to stay away from the internet so he couldn't have any more random, rambling, bizarre and hilarious email conversations about such inane or crazy topics as 'what if shoes could talk' and 'if you were a dinosaur what dinosaur would you be' (Merlin would be a Duck Billed Dinosaur named Alice.  _ Why Alice? _ Arthur had asked.  _ Alice seems a good name for a dinosaur _ . Merlin had said,  _ I think you'd make an excellent Stegosaurus named Gilbert _ ). Whenever, in class or in practice, his mind wandered to into dangerous territory, or when Merlin's goofy face lit up his mobile phone with a call or a text message, Arthur forced himself to think of Merlin and Will, and how they looked that day in the foyer, how happy Merlin was that Will was there and how comfortable they were together. It was hard, but it was for the best. At least, that's what Arthur kept telling himself.

After about a month or more of this, though, Arthur had had enough. He missed Merlin, missed the easy camaraderie they'd had, and things weren't getting better. Worse still, but not unexpectedly, Merlin had started to - not to avoid him, exactly, but he wasn't quite himself around Arthur any more, and that hurt. Quite a bit. Merlin was being careful around him. He obviously understood that Arthur was not himself, but didn't know quite how to deal with him, and Arthur just wished that he could tell Merlin it wasn't his fault, but without making things worse, how could he? At best, Merlin would just pity him, and Arthur's pride railed against the idea. 

Arthur's father was also putting pressure on him to play in the orchestra, on top of his other commitments. Of course it was a good idea, and naturally Arthur auditioned for it, but the extra rehearsals were causing him extra stress and even at the best of times, Arthur found himself losing his temper and snapping without meaning to. Today had been the worst day of all. Arthur had a headache from the conductor yelling at them all after a particularly unproductive rehearsal, Kilgarrah had been angry with him in his private lesson (and rightfully so - Arthur hadn't been on top form for weeks now, and it felt like it was only getting worse), and he'd generally just had a long, difficult, tiring day. He was now in an absolutely  _ foul _ mood, and all Arthur wanted to do was laze about, eat junk food, and fall asleep in front of bad television. When he got home, however, it was clear Morgana had visitors. Fine. He could relax just as easily in his room as he could on the couch. As he rounded the corner to his room, he could more clearly make out the voices. Morgana's visitor was Merlin.

Merlin had been to Arthur's house a few times before, mostly at Arthur's invitation, and always under at least the pretext of needing to practice or to study. The first time he'd ever been there, very early on, before they were really friends even, he'd actually squeaked when he'd seen Igraine's harp. Arthur had felt bad about not letting Merlin touch it like he so clearly wanted to, but nobody touched Igraine's harp. Nobody went near it. It was forbidden, sacred, a shrine to a memory that Arthur didn't even really have. 

"That's criminal," Merlin had said, when Arthur had explained, "all instruments are meant to be played, and what better way to remember and honour someone than by loving and caring and respecting what they left behind? Would she have wanted this? For it to be alone and neglected in the corner of the living room?"

"Oh yeah?" said Arthur, rankled, "How would you know? How many parents have you lost?"

"My Dad," said Merlin, open and honest as always. "He played piano too, for fun. He wasn't really fantastic at it or anything, just party pieces really. He taught me how to play this funny little song, I don't even know the name of it." Merlin's voice sounded far away, and his face suddenly looked a lot older, more worn. "When he first got sick, he'd lie on the couch and I'd make up songs to play to him. I didn't want to touch the piano for a while after, it hurt too much, but...it was better when I did. Music was how I coped. How I got better, a bit, after a while." he paused, "It's silly, but - sometimes I think that, I mean, I'd pretend he was still sitting there, listening. I know he wouldn't have wanted me to stop playing, not ever." Merlin had wrapped his arms around himself as if for support, lost in his thoughts. 

"I never knew my mother," Arthur said, "I've never heard her play anything. Dad got rid of anything associated with her when she died, I think. He went a bit mad after Morgana's mum died too. I remember him boxing up all these photographs. Morgana has her mother's viola, and Mum's harp is there, but everything else - he packed it all away. The memories hurt too much, I think."

Merlin looked at him then, "I'm sorry," he said, softly.

Arthur shrugged, feigning a confidence he did not really feel. "Well I never knew her, so it's neither here nor there. It's not like I can miss her or anything."

"Yes you can," Merlin said gently. "You can miss not having her around."

"I guess." said Arthur. "Anyway, let’s get on with it."

"Right," said Merlin, and shaking himself a bit, moved to the piano with a quickness that Arthur could only suppose was meant to shake the dust of memories from his shoulders. He hadn't mentioned it again, either, but every time he was over Arthur often caught him staring almost sadly at the harp, lonely in its corner.

Arthur was forcibly shaken from his nice little trip down memory lane when Morgana's door was suddenly flung open and Merlin ran right into him, knocking Arthur's books and bags from his hands, manuscripts flying everywhere and out of order.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Merlin laughed, "Are you okay? I should learn to look where I'm going." He bent down to help pick up the mess.

"Leave it," Arthur snapped, grabbing scores from Merlin's hands. "These go in order - you're just making it worse."

"Sorry," said Merlin, clearly put out, "What has gotten into you lately? You've gone wrong!"

"Nothing! I have not gone wrong, there is nothing the matter with me." Arthur exploded all the pent up frustrations of the past few months, the hurt, and the stress welling up and over, "I just want some goddamn peace and quiet and here you are, barrelling through my house like you own the place and knocking me over!"

"I said I was sorry! Twice!" Merlin crossed his arms, "It wasn't like I did it on purpose. This isn't about that though, you've been weird for  _ weeks _ and it's no fun hanging around you any more. You're bad tempered and cross as a dog with a bad leg  _ all the time now _ . What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to leave me alone!" Arthur shouted, "You're everywhere, all the time, I can't get a moment’s peace!" Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was being ridiculous, knew he should stop before he made things any worse than they already were, but he just couldn't. It was like he wasn't in control of the things he was saying any more.

"Friends generally hang around each other," Merlin said acerbically, "and I thought we were friends."

"Yeah?" snapped Arthur, "Well you thought wrong."

Merlin took a step backwards, involuntary, as though Arthur had hit him. His face - Arthur couldn't bear to look.

"Fine." said Merlin. "Well it won't be a problem for you any more." He moved past Arthur.

"Merlin, I didn't - " Arthur began.

"Thank you _ so much _ for your honesty," Merlin's voice was like ice, expression hard and cold, anger barely contained rolling off him in waves. "Morgana, I'm going." 

Arthur could only stand there, fists clenched by his side. When he finally turned around, Morgana was waiting in her doorway, glaring accusingly at him.

"Don't." Arthur said, collecting his things and storming past her, "Just don't."

"You," she spat, waving the bow of her viola in his face like a weapon, "are  _ vile _ . How could you?"

"I said  _ leave it _ , Morgana!" Arthur shouted, and slammed his door shut.

*****

If Arthur had thought things were difficult before, it was nothing compared to how bad it was now that Merlin wasn't talking to him. He hadn't expected him to turn up to their next joint practice session, had thought, actually, that he might go to Gaius or Kilgarrah and demand they find another pianist, but there he was, as usual, but cold and hard and distant, refusing to look at Arthur and not uttering a word unless he absolutely had to. It was the most hostile, horrible hour Arthur had ever spent in company with another person, and at the end of it, almost exactly to the minute, Merlin gathered his things and left, still without a word.

Leaning against the wall, watching him go, Arthur felt absolutely wretched.

*****

"Merlin, cheer up." Gaius demanded, "This piece is light and airy. You're playing it as though your grandmother just died. She hasn't, I had tea with her last Tuesday."

Merlin twisted his mouth up, "Light and airy really doesn't suit me right now," he said, "I've been listening to a lot of Shostakovich, actually. Is there anything heavier I could learn? This piece just feels too flimsy and insubstantial to me."

"If you turn into one of those tortured artistic genius' on me," Gaius threatened, "I will learn you a new definition of pain and show you what torture really means." Nevertheless, Gaius said to meet him at his office around five, and when Merlin got there, he had a stack of new pieces waiting for him. Merlin was to take his pick. "I still want you to learn the Alkan eventually, though." he warned, "But you can put it on the back-burner for now."

"Thanks Gaius," said Merlin, gratefully. "I'll look over them tonight."

After playing diligently through each one (and passing over the Bazzini entirely - Arthur adored Bazzini, and Merlin made no bones about the fact that his current self-indulgent bad mood was entirely about Arthur), Merlin settled on the angriest pieces he could find, and let fly. The already unstable Ginastera became dangerous and uncontrolled under his fingers, Beethoven became threatening, frightening, almost too much to bear, and Chopin - who at the very least was usually good for frustrating Merlin out of bad tempers - turned into a beastly howling chorus of temper and despair. Merlin's fingers flew up and down the keys, pressing harder here, and he poured all of it, everything he had, into his playing, so much so that by the time he'd run through them all, he was exhausted and almost ready to cry. Which, as luck would have it, was where Will found him.

"Who do I have to kill?" was Will's greeting, "I could hear you playing all the way up the road, mate. Who is it, and what did they do?"

Merlin let out a hollow laugh. "Arthur."

"I never liked him," Will said instantly, loyally, and it made Merlin's heart swell. "What'd he do? I like to know why I'm going to go to prison for homicide before I do the deed."

"It's my fault," Merlin began - 

"I'll be fucked if it is," Will interrupted, "but do go on."

"It is," Merlin insisted, "I let myself - I made an arse of myself. I should never - we had a fight, and he told me to leave him alone. He's figured it out, he must have figured out about me, and he's made himself really, really clear on the matter. I've brought this on myself. I need to learn to keep my emotions on the other side of my face."

"And my dry streak continues," said Will sarcastically.

"I thought we were at least friends," Merlin continued, raw. "I was obviously wrong."

"I'd offer to buy you a hooker," Will said thoughtfully, "but somehow I don't think that'd help." 

"Not really, no." Merlin laid his head down on the keyboard, worn out. "But I appreciate the thought."

"It's his loss." Will patted him on the back. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," said Merlin, "me too."

*****

Merlin, when in company, spent a good portion of his time convincing (or failing to convince) everybody (Gwen, Morgana, Will, and Gaius) that he was fine. 

"Have you spoken to Arthur yet?" was a question Gwen asked timidly about once a week. "Only I think you should, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding that's been blown out of proportion."

"No, Gwen." was always Merlin's reply, "It wouldn't do any good."

"You don't know until you try," Gwen insisted, but always let it drop after that.

When he was alone, he spent his time slowly crafting themes for his end of year composition piece, or playing depressing, heartbreaking, or insanely angry pieces on the piano by turn. He kept practicing with Arthur - breaking a commitment like that for personal reasons was unprofessional - but he still ignored him while he was in the room, and avoided him everywhere else, taking a strange sort of pride in giving Arthur exactly what he'd wanted - space. There was one good thing to come of this mess, however, and that was that he was so caught up in feeling sad and sorry for himself, angry at himself for being such a girl about it, and angry at Arthur for being such a horrible person, that his usually debilitating attack of performance anxiety was muted and controllable. 

It was Merlin's final solo performance of the year - being an accompanist had its perks, after all, one of which was that he didn't have to do so very many solo concerts, though his end of year examination concert was still as heavy as everyone else’s - and he was very much looking forward to getting it over and done with, so he could focus properly on his composition piece, which wasn't coming along nearly as well as Merlin would have liked. Every composition student had their pieces performed by other students in an end-of-year concert, alongside various soloists that were announced based on individual exam results, and the firsts choir. It was an extravaganza of sound and revolting poshness, showing family and friends just what their loved ones had wasted all their time and money on this year past, and promoting the Conservatorium in all its elitist glory. Merlin's mother was very excited about it, and Will had threatened to make and sport an embarrassing support sign, like the kind you see waved about in television audiences. Merlin's work, however, was stunted. He had nothing in his back ups that he'd want performed. He'd hit a dry wall and it was frustrating him. He was looking forward to not having to focus on anything but his final piece. Merlin had decided that this performance was going to be an end of sorts, where he'd let everything go that was bothering him, put it all behind him, and get back to being himself.

*****

"This has gone on long enough," said Morgana, "and it has to stop right now."

Arthur ignored her and kept on practicing his scales. Right up until the point where she threw a brand new box of rosin [ [ 3 ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosin) ] at his head.

"Ow!" he cried, nearly dropping his bow, "Morgana, that hurt."

"Good." she said, "it was meant to. Now put your instrument down. We need to chat."

Arthur, tempted though he was to turn his back and ignore her, did as he was told. He'd been on the receiving end of Morgana's fury many times before, and especially frequently of late, and knew well enough now that it was better for him if he practiced a little blind obedience every now and then.

"What do you want?" he asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"For you to tell me what's going on." Morgana demanded, hands on her hips. "You go all strange, then you fight with Merlin for no reason that anybody can see, and you've been moping in your room ever since. You're making life horrible for everyone around you."

"Oh I'm so sorry you've been inconvenienced, Morgana." Arthur just hoped the sarcasm dripping from his voice didn't stain the carpet. 

"I'm  _ worried about you _ , you callous bastard," she snapped, "I know other people's emotions don't count much with you, and that you think that suppressing and ignoring your own is the best way to deal with things - for which twisted logic I blame your father entirely, by the way - but it really, really isn't. I have waited for you to pull your head out and apologise to Merlin, waited for you to get over whatever this is, and you haven't, so this is your wake up call. Fix it or I'll fix it for you, and you won't like that."

"I _ can't _ ," Arthur protested, "Firstly, you heard what I said to him, and even if I apologised and he forgave me and we went back to being all chummy, it  _ still  _ wouldn't help any. Nothing would have changed. I can't work like that. I can't be around him."

"You are such a hypocrite!" Morgana shook her head, furious. "You can't be the bigger man and just  _ deal  _ with the fact that Merlin thought the sun shone out of your arse? Remember that time you had a crush on Lance? He knew! What did he do about it? Certainly not blow up and refuse to be friends any more. The straightest man you could ever, ever meet and he never once batted an eyelid about you. I never, ever thought that you'd be this way if things were reversed. I thought you had more compassion than that. I mean, Christ, what right have you to freak out about - "

"I don't know if you're remembering the same argument," Arthur interrupted, "but I insulted Merlin, not the other way around. How on earth does this have anything to do with me being fifteen and hopelessly in love with my best friend?"

Morgana blinked at him, "How are you so thick?" she said. "Merlin's been head over heels for you almost from the start. Just because you don't reciprocate is no reason to have treated him like that."

"No he doesn't. What?" Arthur stared at her. "Merlin didn't - what are you  _ on _ ?"

"If you didn't know," said Morgana, confused, "then what the hell was all that about?"

"Me not being able to be around him, because, like with Lance, it wasn't ever going to happen, but  _ unlike _ with Lance, it wasn't going away!" Arthur snapped, "I didn't freak out about anything, I lost my temper and now I've lost a best friend. I have to deal with that. I'm sorry I hurt him but nothing I say or do is going to fix that, because absolutely nothing will have changed and it'll start all over again. Or he'll find out, and things will change and I'll lose him for a second time."

"Wait," said Morgana, "This whole time it's been an act of ridiculous self preservation? How stupid can you be?"

Arthur just looked at her dolefully.

"Oh my God," she said, sitting down on Arthur's desk chair, apparently knocked for six, "You are such an idiot."

"Thanks," said Arthur drily.

"You really need to talk to him." Morgana pressed. "All this time he's thought you figured out about how he felt about you and it freaked you out."

"Shit," said Arthur. "What? No! I thought the best idea was for me to...to avoid him and wait till I figured out how he felt, or I got over him! Especially after seeing him with Will." He stared at her helplessly. "How could he think that? What could he possibly - that doesn't make any sense!"

"Neither does how you've handled yourself," Morgana pointed out, but not unkindly. She leant forward and gently placed a hand over Arthur's and squeezed reassuringly. "Go to his concert this week. You need to tell him all this. He might punch you, but then  _ I  _ want to punch you, and also you would totally deserve it, but then it would all get sorted out and everything will be  _ so much better _ than it ever was, I promise. I  _ promise _ ."

"Morgana," Arthur complained, "I  _ can't _ . He has a boyfriend. Will, remember?"

"Are you serious? Oh my God, you're actually serious." Morgana looked at Arthur as though he'd grown an extra head, and that extra head had just started singing God Save the Queen at the top of its lungs. "Look, I'm not saying another word, but you are  _ going _ to that concert and you are sorting this out. Don't make Gwen and I escort you there."

"I'm twice your size," Arthur protested, "neither of you can actually force me to do anything."

"Leon and Geraint take their orders from us," Morgana reminded him, and with a sigh Arthur resigned himself to a terrible and probably public scene that Thursday.


	4. Recapitulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recapitulation: one of the most important psychological moments in the entire sonata-form structure; presents the principal subject matter of the movement in a new state of equilibrium.

Normally, when Arthur went to watch a friend perform he'd sit right up the front. With Leon or Lance or Geraint, it was so he could heckle more easily, and they in turn could attempt to empty their spit valves on him in retaliation (brass playing fuckers that they were). With Morgana, he sat up the front so she had someone to glare at within easy distance. Morgana never got nervous, her glare just got more intense, that's all. Watching Gwen, he sat up front because it was polite, and he liked to see her smile - even if lately she'd been smiling more at Leon than anyone else, and wasn't that an interesting development. Watching Merlin, well. Ostensibly he'd sat up front as a show of support. Merlin always got so nervous, and Arthur being there had seemed to help, at least a little. Then when he got going, really got lost in the music he was bringing to life, Merlin became somehow altered, somehow a little bit not of this world, a little bit magical. Arthur felt privileged to be allowed to be there to see it, hear it, and lose himself in the performance, in the story that Merlin was weaving into the notes. When Merlin would finish, he'd always look a little lost, a little confused, as though he couldn't remember where he was or how he got there, but then he'd catch Arthur's eye, and smile, and it was like the room was momentarily lit up with golden light. Arthur had never reviewed one of Merlin's concerts for his homework, because he couldn't find the words to describe what it was like for him. Morgana had, pretty words about admirable rendition and visible nerves conquered by an inner strength evident in the performer's carriage and the startling confidence with which he eventually related a particularly technically challenging piece, but though for anyone else that would be a perfectly reasonable review to give, for Merlin Arthur felt it was somehow hollow, missing all but the barest bones of what had happened.

This time, Arthur couldn't sit up front. Not to offer support, not to heckle, and certainly not to lose himself in the sort of inexplicably amazing experience he'd come to expect from Merlin. He'd lost that right, probably forever, which was a depressing thought - forever relegated to the shadowy anonymity of the back row. He'd even have been too much of a coward to enter the hall by the main doors if Morgana hadn't gripped his elbow sharply and steered him through, Leon hovering in the background just in case Arthur got any last minute ideas that involved 'chickening' and 'out'. 

Arthur had been avoiding Merlin just as much as Merlin him, even in practices looking at his shoes or a spot on the wall, or focussing solely on his score, so he was shocked at how tired Merlin looked when he tripped his way up the stage right stairs and took his place at the old, scuffed baby grand long ago designated as being too poor an instrument to be good for anything but compulsory student only performances. But as tired and worn and generally not himself as Merlin looked, and as badly as that made Arthur feel - certain that at least part of this change was his fault - it was a relief to be able to watch him unnoticed, after so much time of forced deprivation, and Arthur couldn't have torn his eyes away even if he'd wanted to.

He had to, though, when Merlin started playing, because it simply got too much to bear. In general, the better-known pieces were avoided - frequently even forbidden by the professors. So hackneyed and overdone, so heard everywhere, all of the original and intended effect was lost on the audience. Arthur sincerely wished Gaius had stuck to this general rule, because Merlin was currently bringing an emotional intensity and a depth to Beethoven's Sonata No. 14 that threatened to overwhelm Arthur, to drag him down and under and drown him in the depths of misery spilling outwards from the sound in waves. Merlin, tired and sombre, was haemorrhaging every tear, every heartbreak, every ounce of grief he'd ever felt into the keys, and it wasn't just Arthur that was affected - though perhaps guilt heightened his perception slightly. Nevertheless, Sophia, a flighty and generally self-absorbed flautist, who was sitting three rows in front, was sniffling into a tissue, and Morgana's lips were a thin, tight line, as though to keep her from betraying herself.

When the piece finished, Merlin didn't look up. Just sat a moment, heavy as the closing cluster still fading slowly out of sound, like the last drops of water seeping through a crack in the floor. It was deathly still in the hall. Then, after apparently not finding what he was looking for in his hands, Merlin sat a little straighter and played the opening of his next, crescendo so powerful and unexpected after the melancholy calm of the preceding moments that Arthur jumped in his seat. This time, there was no heartbreak, no grief threatening to consume them all, just a bare anger, fast and furious, a tumultuous storm of notes that flew by so fast, intertwined so briefly and then parted, that there was no predicting where Merlin would go, how far he could take it. The theme a dark and strong undercurrent recurring whenever the alternations threatened to fly away on a tangent to drag them back to the business at hand, which, as far as Arthur could tell from where he sat, was war. 

Arthur was up and out of his seat even before Merlin had finished, ignoring Morgana's hissed threats that he sit down. He owed Merlin an apology - he owed him a million apologies, but he couldn't - not right now. Not after listening to that. It was too honest a performance, too open, too raw. He knew how Merlin felt now, how much he'd hurt him. Arthur was out the door and down the hall before he really knew where he was going, or that somebody had followed him.

"I want a word with you, Pendragon!" someone called from behind him, and with a start Arthur turned and found himself face to face with Will. 

"What are you - " he began.

"Shut it," snapped Will, pointing a threatening finger at Arthur's chest, "I'm talking. You're a right bastard, you know that? Do you know what he's put himself through? You don't treat Merlin like that and get away with it, not ever. Let me tell you something, right. He's too damn good for you. I'll not sit back and watch him beat himself up over someone as worthless as you."

"What are you going to do, hit me?" Arthur snarled, "I fucked up, I'm sorry. It's not what he thinks, and it's not what you think, so as far as I'm concerned, whatever your relationship with Merlin this is none of your business. It's mine, and seeing as I'm so worthless I suggest you go back to your boyfriend, and leave me the fuck alone." He stormed off, his cowardice buzzing in his ears and blocking whatever Will shouted after him.  

*****

"I told you to go to the bathroom before you left the house," Merlin teased when Will came back to the concert hall. He'd been vaguely aware of movement off stage, and had looked up just in time to see Will slamming the door on his way out. 

"Up yours," said Will without any real heat, "you're well shot of that Arthur bloke by the by, he's got a screw loose. Oh, great pianoing. Really...piano-y."

"Thanks," said Merlin dryly, "but what about Arthur? He was here?"

"Yeah, skulking up the back somewhere," Will shrugged, "he bolted right past me just as you were finishing, so I, you know, went and had a chat with him. He seems to be labouring under the impression that because I hang out with you, I am bumming you, and mate, while I love you, I will never love you that much. Just so we're clear."

"What?" said Merlin, completely confused.

"Arthur was here," Morgana joined them, giving Merlin a quick hug, "before morphing into a spineless lump and running away like a frightened child. I tried, I really did, but apparently he just doesn't have the guts to sort it out for himself, so now it's up to you." she rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a set of keys and handed them over. "When you talk to him, tell him I said he desperately needs to grow a pair."

"Morgana - " Merlin protested.

"Trust me," she interrupted, "at the end of all this you will be laughing. Inside, deep down past the urge to smash him in the face with my viola case, I am laughing hysterically because he really is a complete idiot."

"You always want to smash him in the face with your viola case," Merlin pointed out.

"Exactly. So go talk to him. Will can get a ride home with Gwen and I if he needs to." 

"'Spose it can't hurt..." Merlin said. "Do I actually have a choice in this?"

 "Not really, no." Morgana smiled sweetly and gave him a little push towards the door. 

*******

Arthur was furious at himself, furious, and as soon as he got home he did the only thing he could do (besides trash the house, which he'd tried once and never again, having been made to set it all to rights again by himself) - play. He went over and over and over his set pieces for his final exam, over and over and over them, each time playing worse and worse and worse until finally, so frustrated with himself and his shoddy fingering and how he was a coward and being ridiculous and everything, everything besides, he threw his violin down onto his bed in disgust.

"Fuck!" he shouted at nothing in particular, running his fingers through his hair.

"Someone ought to wash your mouth out with soap," said a voice behind him. "Teach you better manners." 

Arthur whirled around and there was Merlin, casually leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of a thing to say.

Merlin didn't seem to notice. "You came to my concert," he said, "and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why you would do that. Morgana said I had to come to talk to you because you were too much of a girl yourself, but I couldn't figure out why I should bother with you. But on the way over here, it clicked, I think. Something Will said - " he broke off and looked down for a moment. "I think I know, now, what's going on. But I want to hear it from you." He caught Arthur's gaze, and his eyes were bluer than Arthur remembered, more vivid in reality than in memory. He just stood there, waiting, patient and serious and there, and Arthur couldn't disappoint Merlin, not now. He owed him this much, at least.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Morgana told me," he began slowly, "that you think I stopped talking to you, that I freaked out because you're gay. That's not true." He paused. Merlin didn't move, didn't nod, his expression didn't change, nothing. He just kept watching, intent, waiting. "When I was in high school," Arthur went on, "I fell in love with Lance, or I thought I had. Only it wore off, after a while, but not before I'd made a right fool of myself. Lance was cool about it, but he didn't - he's straight." Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly tired. "I met you and I really didn't like you, but then I got to know you and you're the funniest, daftest, best person I know, and one day I realised that I felt -- more for you than maybe I should. As your friend. And I wanted to see if it would go away, like before. I was waiting for the spell to break. But it didn't. I thought keeping away might help, and if it didn't change anything then at least then I could see if you might ever want me. Like I wanted you."  Now that he'd started, it was hard to keep pace. Everything came spilling out, tumultuous and rushed. "Then I saw you with Will and I realised you were taken, and it hurt knowing that I couldn't even have a chance, you know? You were there and you were everything and there was every possibility, except there really wasn't, because there was Will. So I tried to - to not feel, any more, and I didn't deal with it well. Obviously. I should have come out and just told you, but I didn't want to ruin the best friendship I'd ever had, only now it's ruined anyway, and I came to your concert today so I could tell you that I was sorry. About everything. But the way you played - you were brilliant, and honest to God I hate ‘Moonlight’ with a passion, but you brought it to life, and it all just felt too much. I mean, you made Sophia cry. Sophia. So I left. I had to."

Merlin nodded slowly, and his mouth twisted up strangely. Arthur's stomach felt like lead, until he realised that Merlin was trying not to laugh.

"What?" he asked warily, "I don't - "

"You are so, so thick!" Merlin burst out, shoulders shaking. "Oh my God, Morgana was right." He moved then, and with a quickness that surprised Arthur crossed the room in three strides and stood in front of him. Merlin was a little bit taller than Arthur, but not by much, but Arthur still had to look up, a little. Merlin's eyes were still a deep, striking blue, but they weren't serious and guarded any more - now they were twinkling, just a bit.

Merlin placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders and ducked his head a little, looked Arthur straight in the eye. "Now you listen to me," he said slowly, "Will is not my boyfriend. He never has been, and he never will be. I grew up with him, and I consider him to be a brother. Even if he were gay, which he most decidedly is not, that would be bad and gross and wrong and, oh my God, I don't even want to think about it." Merlin shuddered a little in disgust, and up close Arthur found the wrinkling of his nose strangely adorable. "Are you with me so far?"

Arthur nodded, feeling a little confused and fighting the bubble of excitement and hope welling up within his chest. He was still frozen to the spot, and even if he hadn't been, Merlin had a vice-like grip on his arms. Probably to stop him running away again.

"Right, good," Merlin continued, "secondly: when we stopped talking, I thought it was because you knew how I felt about you, and couldn't handle it."

  "How," Arthur began, "how did you feel about me?"

Merlin sighed, and gave Arthur a look that spoke volumes, all of which were about just how slow Arthur was and how disappointed Merlin was in him. “I can see you're not getting it fast enough," Merlin said leaning forward and drawing Arthur in. He was so close now that Arthur could count each eyelash, and number the tiny freckles on his nose. The pressure of Merlin was warm and steadying against Arthur, which was good, because when Merlin took Arthur's face between both hands and kissed him, slow and almost chaste, it felt a little like the floor dropped out of Arthur's world in the best way possible.

When he drew back, Arthur just stared at him, eyes wide.  

"Do you understand yet?" Merlin asked, smiling, and Arthur didn't bother answering, just fisted one hand in Merlin's shirt and drew him down to kiss him again and again, fingers tangling in Merlin's hair. It was messy and uncoordinated, all teeth and bumping noses, and Merlin kept laughing - a bubbling sound of such pure joy that Arthur found it was contagious. When they finally pulled apart for air, foreheads resting together, Arthur honestly couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or cry - but he did know that he was happy. Merlin didn't seem to be able to keep his hands still, playing with Arthur's collar, his hair, little light touches everywhere, as though reassuring himself that yes, Arthur was real and solid and not about to dissolve into the ether.   

"Yeah," said Arthur, grinning, "Yeah, I think I do."

  "I'm still mad at you," Merlin said, pouting just a little, and Arthur kissed him again because he could, soft this time, the first of many apologies he was more than willing - even looking forward to making.

*******

Merlin sat down that night, at his desk, and for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he was going to write. The notes that had been swirling and clashing and fighting with one another, refusing to work together, refusing to behave finally fell into place. Phrase after phrase flowed straight from the complicated tumult of sound in his mind and onto the paper in neat rows and groups, lines and stops, translated so the rest of the world could understand and know. It was as though someone had flicked a switch, turned the tap from off to on, and when Merlin finally sat back and reviewed his work, ink somehow on his nose and his eyelids and the top of his ear, he knew without a doubt that even though this was the roughest of drafts, the barest of bone-thin sketches, that this was his final piece, and it was going to be amazing.

He wouldn't let anybody look at it till it was finished. Even Arthur - especially Arthur. Every good piece of music tells a story, every movement a chapter that, while it can stand on it's own, is just a fragment which leaves you wondering and guessing until it's woven into the larger tapestry of sound and song. This was Merlin's story, and nobody was going to read a paragraph and second-guess the ending until he was good and ready to let them. He'd had enough of assumptions and misunderstandings lately. That, and the frustration that Arthur, still on his best behaviour around Merlin, had to squash every time Merlin snatched his manuscript away from prying eyes, was endearing and amusing. It crinkled up the corners of his eyes just so, and made something fond and lovely bubble up inside Merlin  - but he wasn't about to let Arthur know that. Not yet. 

Merlin had pretty much forgiven Arthur, but he was going to use this extra carefulness, this extra patience Arthur had for him still, while he could. It was most convenient, really, because lost as he was inside his own head for so much of the day, so focussed on this piece and all the individual components that made it up, he was useless as a student and rubbish as a friend, let alone boyfriend. He needed all the extra patience he could get.

*******

“Merlin,” said Arthur incredulously, staring down at the score before him, “is that a triple sharp?”

“Er,” Merlin had the decency to look ashamed.

“Nobody’s going to be able to play this,” Arthur warned.

“You will,” said Merlin confidently, “and that’s all that matters, really.”

Arthur tried to ignore the warmth that spread through his chest at this, and peered more closely at the reams of paper Merlin had thrust upon him as soon as he'd turned up to the conservatorium that morning. Merlin hovered nervously over Arthur's shoulder, his chin just shy of too sharp where he was resting it in the junction of Arthur's shoulder and neck. 

 "Merlin," said Arthur, "I can't read while you're thinking in my ear. Can you go be nervous somewhere else while I look at this for you?" Arthur could actually feel Merlin roll his eyes.

"You have to play it, though," said Merlin, "it's just none of the others could do this. I've been over and backwards thinking through every violinist and none of them have the technical skill you have. They'd ruin it, they'd tear it to pieces and it would fall. They'd fall. Also, I like you best."

 "I already said I would," Arthur lost his place, dammit, back to the beginning, "several times. And I will.  _ If you let me learn it _ ."

"Sorry," Merlin huffed, but retreated to the piano stool in the corner and let Arthur get on with it.

"You were ...wow, you were  _ really _ angry when you wrote this part," Arthur looked up about ten minutes in. Merlin was sitting hunched over, actually twiddling his thumbs, and looking equal parts nervous and bored out of his skull. "Really,  _ really _ angry. Have you killed anyone, Merlin? Because this is a very strange way of confessing if you have."

"Furious, actually, " Merlin admitted. "Keep going."

Arthur dutifully returned his focus to the score.

"Is this bit about you? Or ...your father?" Arthur asked very carefully, several minutes later as he slowly worked his way through, "because it feels - " The first theme, so full of violence and anger, had given way to a movement so heartbroken and mournful that Arthur found himself in danger of choking up a little as he read. It felt too personal, too real.

"No. It’s not about my Dad.” Merlin interrupted, impatient, "But it is about me, though. Everything a composer writes is a little about themselves. Everything I write is definitely at least a little about me, which is incredibly egotistical and as such won't actually be written up in the little booklet they'll do up for it, but there you go. This piece is about what I feel and how I think and what my life is for and how the world works and if you don't stop talking you'll never finish it and you won't understand a damn thing." 

Arthur nodded, and continued. It built upon a skittish, almost disconnected introduction, until it was furious, volatile,  _ terrifying _ climax that raged, dangerous, until it reached a fever pitch and collapsed in upon itself, a black hole in the space between the staves. A recurring theme that Arthur hadn't even recognised as being a theme, at first, so subtle and barely perceptible, somehow built itself from the wreckage and drew the entire piece back out of itself, set it on a newer, calmer course until what had begun as a shattered, weak, and grieving entity became strong, and proud, and determined. Where before the tone had been just a little sharp, just a little unsteady in itself, the final movement was gentle, calm, and steady, weaving together all of the different themes and making them work to produce what was essentially the happy ending to the fairy tale. The dominant, final theme was the saving grace of the earlier movement, only built up now and supported. Even though the ending was definitely an ending, a finality, there was a tiny tone of speculation, as though the piece itself were wondering what was in store for it when the page was turned. Arthur had no idea how Merlin had done that, created such a rich tapestry of sound, and still less of an idea how all of this had been in one person’s head. It was technically extremely difficult, and would be a nightmare to get together with the rest of the first year orchestra - Merlin was, after all, first and foremost a pianist, not strings or brass or woodwind. He was used to multiple, simultaneous parts of equal difficulty that had to achieve balance in order for a piece to work, and the complexity of his writing was a clear reflection of this. 

"Alrigh t," he said, flicking back through, "run through this with me. This part here, this little counterpoint - does the rest of the section match the first chair in the crescendo or is it more a faux solo?"

"Of course not, that would be stupid. Stop saying stupid things just to vex me." Merlin was by Arthur's side in a flash, dark head bent over the score, making more little notes in a well-chewed pencil. "Oh, give that here, you've smudged it." 

Arthur grinned and reached for his violin, humming snatches to himself, tuning in and out like a dodgy car radio, while he felt his way through phrases and Merlin offered corrections and played parts of the accompaniment on the piano for him, occasionally being complimentary but more often than not calling out things like " _Arthur_ , could you not see it was a B flat? I'm going to get you new glasses." and  "Concentrate, Pendragon, you learnt that time signature in kindergarten," over his shoulder. 

*******

Merlin’s first choice when writing principal parts in big orchestral scores was never the violin. While it was a fascinating and challenging instrument, the inherent limitations - the sound quality so unbelievably dependent on the maturity and ability of the performer - had made it a frustrating instrument to work with in the past. But this time, he hadn’t had a choice, exactly. When he’d sat down and poured everything out onto the page, the violin had been, inexplicably, the only option. Nothing else, not even Merlin’s go-to favourite string, the cello, would do.

Objectively, when he’d reviewed his work, Merlin could see that while he didn't write this part  _ for _ Arthur, Arthur was the only violinist he knew (and, being in composition, he now knew all the violinists at the conservatorium) that would look at such technically difficult sequences and view them as battles to be won, rather than obstacles he couldn't possibly surmount. Merlin was confident not only in Arthur’s ability to tackle the technical side of the work, but in his emotional understanding - Arthur, for all he was hopelessly young and spoiled, somehow had the maturity required to execute it. Arthur alone could get the right sound out of his instrument to make this  _ work _ . Uther Pendragon may not have given his son a choice about his future career, about what instrument he played, but Merlin was certain that Arthur could never have been anything but a violinist. Rather than chafe against the restrictions placed against him at an early age, he’d risen above and beyond, and become a better performer than he might have been had he chosen for himself. Arthur was born to music just as much as Merlin was.

Knowing that Arthur could do it, however, didn’t make him any less nervous come performance night. Merlin thought he'd been a total wreck the day of his final practical exam. He'd been shaking so much he didn't think he could hit any of the right keys, and afterwards he'd worked himself into such a state that he'd been sick in the loo. Standing here, now, backstage with the orchestra as ready as it would ever be before him under the hot stage lights, Merlin can barely breathe, let alone move enough to shake. Small mercies, perhaps.

 "Go on," Arthur gives him a nudge, "go out there and wave your magic wand. It'll be brilliant."

"It's not a magic wand." Merlin snaps, "It's a baton and it cost me an arm and a leg, damn right I'm going to wave it around." He knows he should be kinder, that Arthur is also nervous (despite protestations to the contrary), but right now he has to go out there and not only conduct (and Merlin knows he is not the most coordinated person at the best of times), but bare his soul to a large crowd of friends, family, strangers, professors, benefactors, and the most judgemental people of all - his fellow students - with what seems to him now to be a ridiculously self-indulgent random jumble of hogwash mess, and there’s a part of his brain shouting at him that he should never have been let into this place, he doesn't fit.

But he squares his shoulders and heads out anyway, because dammit he’s committed, now, and he’d rather die of embarrassment than be murdered by Gaius for doing a runner.  Blinded a little by the brightness of the lights (which are always a little off because the jazz majors run the stage setup when the classical students are performing, and they have funny ideas about the appropriate expression of academic rivalry), Merlin takes his place in front of the orchestra.  The audience is quiet and expectant behind him, as the orchestra finishes their tuning. Merlin stares, probably terrifyingly, at Arthur sitting in first, until the other boy looks up and meets his eyes. Arthur’s face has taken on the serious, almost regal expression it always does when he’s performing, and he nods once, almost imperceptibly; Merlin lifts his arms, and they’re away.

The first few notes nearly send Merlin into a panic, thinking that Arthur’s timing is off, or Merlin’s conducting is off - one of them is too fast or too slow,  _ something _ is wrong and everything is going to hell so much sooner than expected. But that’s just nervous energy; the orchestra comes in perfectly on cue at the end of Arthur's openi ng solo, and Merlin’s piece comes to life. Arthur hits every note with terrifying precision, and better still, he puts all the emotional intensity into it and more. Merlin knows what this piece is supposed to sound like, has heard it a million times in his head until it nearly drove him insane, worried that he couldn't properly express that on paper - but Arthur understands, and throws a fury the depths of which Merlin wasn't even sure was possible into it.  Violence and c haos crash down around his ears, a battlefield lived out inside the concert hall. Building, building, spiralling out of control until the crash and burn. 

Out of a silence louder and more oppressive than any chord cluster could aim for, Arthur comes in again, heavy, hopeless, utterly broken and so alone that if Merlin didn't have to concentrate on bringing Gwen and the other woodwinds in just there, he might start crying. As it grows through the third movement, Arthur ducks and weaves around the horn section, first following and then leading; performs a complicated dance with the woodwind as he teases them confidently along, convinces them to join him on his quest, and they bolster him up piece by piece. Gwen has a minor solo, gently twisting Arthur's theme where it gets out of hand, bringing it back and pushing it in the right direction, a counterpoint to his strength, almost but not quite the other half of a coin, setting everything up for the final movement. 

When everyone comes in together for the last time, high and proud and strong, it's like a dam bursts inside him and Merlin is nearly washed away in the giddy rightness of it all. This is what he was born to be; this is what he was born to do; make sense of his universe through sound and share the magic of that with the whole world. Everything off-kilter has slotted firmly into place, never to be displaced again.

Arthur as first chair is strong and confident, a born leader, and he would be in total command of both the orchestra and the entire room but for Merlin standing there, pulling all of the invisible strings .  As everything falls perfectly into place with a satisfied finality, the lower strings drawing out the final notes, Merlin grins madly down at Arthur, who returns his smiles a little dazed and impossibly fond, and Merlin keeps grinning and keeps grinning until Arthur leans forward slightly and hisses “Turn around and take your  _ bow _ , Merlin!” and he remembers exactly where he is.

The applause is pretty damn ego boosting, if Merlin’s honest, and he's pretty sure he just hear Will whoop and catcall but he can't be certain. He’d like to stay in this moment forever, revelling in the post-performance high, but no sooner than he’d handed the applause off to the orchestra as is proper, and Arthur had taken his own bow, the curtains are drawn and the stage crew is ushering them off stage so they can set up for the choral performances. 


	5. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda: an expanded cadence; the concluding passage based on the extensions and re-elaborations of thematic material previously heard.

“I can’t believe you thought you were going to fail,” Arthur snorts, “you’re so dramatic, Merlin, honestly.”

Merlin tears his eyes away from watching the sunlight dapple through the leafy canopy above him, lazily imagining how he might transpose the play of light into sound, to shoot a faux-hurt look at Arthur, who is leaning against a tree beside him with his eyes closed and so remains disgustingly unaffected. 

“Not all of us can be the Dean’s son,” Morgana says lightly, “ _ some _ of us have to work for our grades.”

Their end of year marks had come through that morning. Merlin had been a wreck, waiting, convinced he’d failed every exam and would lose his place, but he’d done better than expected. A lot better - room for improvement, of course, but certainly a lot to be proud of. All of them had done well or well enough, and so Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen had all met up for celebratory end-of-year and start-of-summer-holidays ice creams and swimming at the little faux-lagoon and cafe strip near the conservatorium, and were now drying out and lazing the afternoon away under the grove of trees where the french horns held their ensemble practices at arse o’clock in the morning during term. 

Merlin watches as Arthur half-heartedly flicks a stray pebble in Morgana’s direction in retaliation.

“I suppose, technically, Arthur’s marks are entirely thanks to me,” Merlin reflects, grinning at the face Arthur pulls, “given that I _ did _ write the standout piece of all his performances. Or at least, that’s what they’ll claim when the inevitable accusations of nepotism come rolling in.”

Arthur opens his eyes and reaches down to grab Merlin’s wrist, fingers resting lightly on the pulse point. Golden spots of sunlight are sprinkled across his face, and catching in his hair, giving the illusion that Arthur is almost but not quite sparkling. 

“There might be something to that,” he says, softly, and Merlin is suddenly so overcome with fondness it feels like his heart might burst. He’s never been very good expressing himself outside of music, but music is love, and Merlin’s fairly certain he loves Arthur, and he knows with absolute certainty that this is how he’s going to show him that, forever. 

“Keep flattering me and you might even get a symphony out of this,” Merlin promises, as Arthur leans closer with intent.

“A symphony?” Arthur murmurs.

“And several concertos,” Merlin promises. Arthur laughs and kisses him, then, soft and gentle, and it sounds like the best music Merlin has ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I have fleeting moments where I'm brutally honest with myself, and I admit that I miss being a part of the music world. This fic is one of them.


End file.
